


keep it down

by furyspook



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Quiet Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 04:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18004172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furyspook/pseuds/furyspook
Summary: there were probably better places for this to happen





	keep it down

     “ _Krok!_ You need to be _quiet!_ ” Fulcrum hissed, looking up at the other with narrow yellow optics. A trail of his own oral lubricant connected his lower lip-plate with Krok’s spike head, and Krok was transfixed by the way it caught what little light there was in the darkened hab. He may have heard Fulcrum, but the meaning took longer to sink in, given that Krok’s processor was already heavily occupied not only by the proximity of Fulcrum’s mouth to his spike but by the way Fulcrum’s digits still moved inside of him. The heat of his frame was only partially controlled by his cooling fans, kept low for the sake of their tryst, and the longer Fulcrum worked him over the more difficult it became to control himself. 

     His vocalizer stalled over a loud guttural hum, and when it reset he could only nod:  _ ‘Right, I understand, I’ll keep it down’ _ . Fulcrum looked unconvinced but he didn’t punish Krok preemptively, licking a rough stripe from the spike’s base to its tip before taking the head into his mouth again. Krok was careful not to thrust, both to spare Fulcrum the strain on his intake and to keep his plating from scraping over the ground underneath him. 

_ Primus,  _ but it was hard. He didn’t have the steadiest hands, even without a mouth over his spike. It was  _ desperately _ hard with Fulcrum touching him like this. He thought that he must have owed half of his stillness to his position--- propped on his aft with his back to Grimlock’s far larger one. The dinobot recharged heavily, and while roughly headboard-shaped Krok knew that leaning against him was a bad idea, and he had no leverage but the trembling heels of his hands. He was trapped, and he needed to fully support his own weight lest the pair be discovered. Fulcrum’s digits scissored and then thrust and then scissored in his valve, and Krok couldn’t suppress a whimper or stall the slide of his feet across the ground. 

     To his left a body stirred, Misfire shifting in his recharge before pressing his face into Spinster’s shoulder and stilling again. 

     This time Fulcrum didn’t stop, but he gave Krok a pointed look from under the brim of his helm.  _ Be quiet, or you’ll wake the others... Again. _

     Krok brought one digit up before his facemask, acknowledging the order. _ Quiet. _ He could do that. 

     For a while the only sounds to be heard were Krok’s fans, Fulcrum’s  _ more controlled _ fans, and the wet, _ hot _ sounds of Fulcrum sucking his spike and fingering his valve. The slow, faint grind of his writhing was of no consequence to either bot, easy to overlook as they were, but the next time Krok moaned Fulcrum thrust his digits in more harshly than before. Why that would _ quiet him, _ Krok didn’t know--- in fact, he had to work even harder to bite back what would have been a shout. 

     Krok’s optics cycled low, now, and he bent his chin to his chestplate to watch Fulcrum’s helm bob over his spike, pair the visual with the sensation of the wet, warm mouth he was infinitely blessed to know this way. Would Fulcrum look up? Would he see the appreciation in Krok’s optics when he did so? Krok thought it best to keep staring, just in case. Occasionally beyond the main event he would catch the flick of Fulcrum’s wrist which meant that his digits were changing their tempo, that his thumb was moving up to brush over Krok’s anterior node. The shock of pleasure that coincided with that flick was a challenge to bear silently, but Krok could almost manage.

     He was so focused on the pleasure that he almost didn’t notice it when Fulcrum’s free servo started to move. 

     While Krok watched, Fulcrum’s servo moved to the k-classer’s own panels, swiping over his spike casing before gentling, pawing lower over his valve cover. Fulcrum gave his closed valve panel a hard rub with three digits, and Krok couldn’t help a shudder when Fulcrum’s responsive gasp was caught against his spike. His optics twitched, but both were trained on the sight now. Fulcrum’s panel snapped back and without preamble he sunk all three digits in to the second knuckle, his back arching and his hips drawing lower to the ground, nearly pulling his mouth off of Krok’s spike. 

     Krok lost sight of Fulcrum’s valve, but now that he was aware of it he was  _ painfully  _ aware of it, imagining the way that Fulcrum would curl his digits into his own valve--- taking himself deeper and rubbing harder at all of his internal sensors, grinding the side of his hand into his own node, chasing his own release. His imagination only had to do some of the work, though, as every new jolt of electricity reminded Krok that Fulcrum’s fingers were still deep inside of  _ him _ and stirring away. 

     His engine whined long and low, the heat rolling through him in a way that forewarned his overload. His vision blurred, his head lolled back. The closer Krok came the more he fidgeted, and Fulcrum had to stop touching himself to hold the fragger still, lest he jump too far to his right and knock his side against a recharging Crankcase. Krok’s hips rolled again, the heat peaking deep in his array and he barely managed to cut his vocalizer off before he could shout, a short burst of static the only sound that escaped him. The servo on his thigh did nothing to detract from the one playing with his anterior node or the mouth still over his spike, but it did keep his hips down as they stuttered into his climax and until its waves petered out, leaving him twitching and his vents hitching. Fulcrum determinedly swallowed what transfluid he could before he released Krok’s spike, what he couldn’t dribbling out over his chin and across Krok’s panels. His digits pressed a bit longer, maybe that much harder, into Krok’s valve before they also came free, and Krok’s valve clenched around its sudden emptiness even as he felt the relief burn off his overstimulation. 

     When Krok met Fulcrum’s optics they were warm and affectionate, if exasperated. For a moment the pair simply sat, Krok’s cooling interface equipment still leaking over his panels and Fulcrum still bent over his middle with digits covered in excess, to listen to the room around them. Nobody moved, so far as they could tell, and after they were sure that they hadn’t onlined any of their companions they both vented sighs of relief and relaxed their tense limbs. Krok found this easiest, as already his legs were turning to jelly with the spasms of their aftershock.

     Fulcrum almost sunk over his partner’s abdomen to rest, content, it seemed, to go without an overload if it meant that Krok was satisfied and the other Scavengers remained in recharge. 

     Almost, because even with a fuzzy, post-overload processor Krok was able to signal Fulcrum closer, pulling the other onto his lap and against his chest with one unsteady arm while the other trailed down Fulcrum’s body to palm at his array. 

     The brush of his thumb over Fulcrum’s anterior node set the bot in his arms to shivering, and Krok only gave the sensor more attention. He rubbed short circles first in one direction and then the other, feeling the way Fulcrum’s legs tensed and levered apart. He was unsurprisingly quiet throughout, and even when Krok sunk two digits into his dripping valve Fulcrum made little more noise than a heavy vent. Just as well, even if Krok wanted so badly to hear him--- now wasn’t the time, not unless they wanted the complaints of four angry Scavengers as background noise. Krok’s digits thrust at a shaky pace, the upward strokes brushing against Fulcrum’s node with each pass and quickly turning the bot into a mess of quivering parts. 

     Krok reveled in the heat clenching at his digits and in the way Fulcrum tucked his face in against his neck cables, panting there where his slight vocalizations would be muffled rather than into the open. When Fulcrum’s lips pursed tightly against his throat and all of his ventilation stopped Krok knew that he was at the edge of overload and redoubled his efforts. Fulcrum stiffened under harder ministrations and emitted only one quick, airy gasp when he hit his peak, and through his coming down Krok continued to thrust and rub until Fulcrum’s servo came up and tried to push his arm aside. 

     “ _That’s---_ ” 

     Krok knocked his facemask against Fulcrum’s helm, and he took his hand away. Fulcrum immediately stopped fussing, half-leaning against Krok’s chestplate and recovering at whatever speed he needed to. Krok heard the click of his panel closing and wondered if he should do the same, if he would be embarrassed when the others onlined to find him exposed and covered in mixed fluids. It didn’t seem like Fulcrum was ready to move, and he seemed quite content with what would eventually dry and crust onto their plating, and so when Krok closed his panels he put the idea of a clean-up out of his mind. That could wait. 

     Fulcrum’s servo found his own and Krok gave it a gentle squeeze, letting himself settle on his back and begin to cycle down for recharge. Faintly he heard a ‘good night’ from above himself, and he did no more than nod his reply.

**Author's Note:**

> i wasnt going to sacrifice my 'the scavengers sleep in a dog pile on the floor' headcanon for smut
> 
> anyway Team Dads!


End file.
